


Fractured

by SockFightChampion01



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A lot of stuff goes wrong after Act 1, Amnesiac! Shiro, Annnnd it all goes downhill from there, Brainwashing, Dark! Shiro, Don't question it, Everything maybe turns out okay, Evil! Shiro, Pidge maybe fixes stuff, Potential Shidge, Psychological Trauma, Shiro has issues, Shiro is a bad dude, Some slightly aged up characters, and a bad memory, convoluted plot, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SockFightChampion01/pseuds/SockFightChampion01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Shiro’s time in captivity ended differently? What if he had been made into something other than just a gladiator?</p><p>Two years after his initial capture alongside Dr. Holt and his son, Matt, Shiro returns. But, he doesn't return to Earth, and he’s not quite himself. Instead, he goes to Arus, acting as Zarkon’s inquisitor when four of the five Lions are activated.<br/>However, during a fight with the Paladins, Shiro receives a concussive blow to the head, which causes him to become amnesiac.</p><p>Taking mercy on their enemy, the Paladins, along with Allura and Coran, take him in to nurse him back to health and try to get his memories back, as well as his will to fight.<br/>Dark! Amnesiac! Shiro AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue: The Most Powerful Weapon

 

Haggar smiled wickedly as she observed her handiwork, strapped to the table in front of her, arms and legs bound tight to the metal to prevent him from escaping.  
She had taken her time with this one. Made him better than all the rest. He was, after all, the current favorite in the gladiatorial ring. She had splurged, really. Gone full out to make the seemingly insignificant creature something truly dangerous.  
She found it almost...funny how innocent he seemed. He had cut the largest figure among those he had come with, but not in the ring. In the ring, he seemed small and weak. So breakable.  
But the others knew not to underestimate him. He had defeated Myzaks in his first fight, claiming the title of champion. He was clever.  
It seemed that, no matter what gladiator they sent out, no matter how big or bloodthirsty they were, they were defeated. It was strange, how one so small and fragile as he appeared could be so...aggressive and unbreakable.  
And thus, he had captured her attention.  
It had started with taking him from his cell at night and running tests to examine him. She was curious and had wanted to know what exactly made him tick.  
When she realized he fought without conventional weapons, her interest had spiked again. Long hours had been spent planning on what she could do with him, now that she knew his workings.  
Thanks to a near miss in the arena, the cybernetic arm seemed to be a natural starting point. That had required some work, about two days time. She had to act quickly to replace his suddenly missing limb with the cybernetic one enhanced with Galra Druid technology. His body had originally rejected the implant, refusing to accept it at first, and still reeling from the trauma of losing the natural one. It had only been through a full night of hard work and concentration that she was able to get his body to accept the prosthetic and treat it like it would his normal arm.  
Watching him in the arena, the same ferocity guiding him and aiding him, had been a delight once as she saw him slowly start to accept the abilities that his new arm afforded him. She observed him very closely in the ring, and saw that he was very stoic about everything, belying the aggressive behavior he exhibited.  
Seeing another opportunity to “improve,” she once again began experimenting. This time it was different. She was brainwashing him, taking things out and putting things in, and try as he might, he couldn’t fight her.  
She pushed him to his mental and physical limits, as far as he could go and beyond. Physically, she made him stronger, augmented his natural strength, and made him faster. She noted that her experiments and alterations were causing his body a great deal of stress, which showed through in his features. Without natural light, his skin had paled, and the patch of his hair which had grown long in the front had lost its pigmentation.  
But still, she kept going. He was not complete, and she wanted this one to be the masterpiece she knew he had all the potential of being. It took weeks of brainwashing and programming and then, finally, repairing.  
No, she didn’t finally step back and give up, reversing all she had done and sending him on his way. No, she did something far more sinister.  
Something so sinister, even she shivered at the thought of it.  
She had repressed his personality, and twisted him nearly beyond repair. There was nothing of the man who had arrived months ago. She replaced him with something pliable, that would do whatever she or Zarkon bid, but retained his aggressiveness, leaving that as his sole personality trait. Even further down, she had added something else. It was something that hadn’t been done in thousands of years, and was forbidden because of the danger it posed, but she had done it. She had given the ancient ability of Galra Battle Rage.  
When in the heat of battle, he would fly into an unstoppable rage, unable to comprehend any reasoning beyond eliminating his target. And without limits, he would be an immeasurably dangerous thing.  
Oh yes, she was very pleased with her final product.  
Now, he only needed to be tested.

~oOo~

She had made certain that Zarkon would be at the gladiatorial games that night. He had questioned her every step of the way, but she had assured him that this show would be worth his time.  
She had ensured that “the Champion” would partake in a Battle Royale against five other opponents, much larger than him. After keeping a careful eye on him in his last few fights, she knew just what limit to push him to in order to get the results she desired from him.  
“I hope you are right about this, Haggar,” the Galra Emperor said from the seat that currently served as his throne. She bowed her head, dark hood and shadows concealing her smile.  
“The feeling is mutual, my lord,” she replied, eyes darting up as the ring was lit up and the gladiators stepped out. She found it funny again, how a creature as puny as he was could be the Champion. Still, she was quite prideful in her work.  
She watched as the fight began, the five gargantuan brutes seeming to come to an understanding. “Pick off the champion, and we’ll deal with one another after,” they seemed to agree.  
They encircled the Champion, banging their fists and weapons in an effort to frighten him. Much to her delight, he remained unfazed, simply standing in their midst with a blank look on his features, eye distant.  
“Is this what you brought me to see? A puny troque getting ripped to shreds? This is hardly worth my time.” Zarkon growled beside her.  
“All due respect, my lord, just watch and wait,” she replied, flicking her gaze to the side momentarily before returning it to the ring where the combatants were riling each other up.  
Finally, one of the bigger gladiators took a swing at him.  
What happened next could only fill Haggar with satisfaction and plant a wicked smile firmly on her face.  
The Champion leapt what must have been ten feet into the air and completely dodged the weapon. After that, it was pure chaos. The dust of the arena floor was kicked up and blocked their view. However, the roars from the gladiators could be heard even over the noise of the crowd.  
Her smile twisted into a full grin when a purple glow cut through the dust cloud. It slashed and cut, twisting and curling about as its wielder dashed and jumped and flipped around the ring, cutting down his opponents. Their cries of pain and death echoed out, nearly drowned out by the gathered crowd, who seemed nearly as bloodthirsty as their champion.  
When the dust cleared, four large bodies lay prone on the ground, with two standing among them. The last of the beasts, the one who originally took a swing at him at the beginning of the fight, was clutching its arm and trying to back against the wall to put as much space between itself and the Champion.  
However, much to the Galra Druid’s pleasure, she saw he had entered the Battle Rage, and was not to be stopped. His eyes were glowing a yellow-gold, much like the traditional Galra’s, and his hand was still ignited.  
The crowds chanted and cheered for the two to fight one another and finish it. Taking strength from their goading, the remaining gladiator charged at the Champion. Though he had remained blank-faced through the entire battle, at this, the Champion smirked and met the creature halfway, leaping up with his cybernetic arm outstretched, and sliced the monster’s head off, before landing neatly on the ground to thunderous cheers.  
Haggar stood, admiring her work and reveling in her success. All was silent in the Emperor’s private viewing box for a long moment. Then, finally, Zarkon spoke.  
“The Champion,” he began, making Haggar’s hackles rise as she bent her head to look at him. “Have it cleansed and brought to me. I want it in my throne room by the end of the hour.”  
“As you say, my lord. I will see to it personally,” she replied, dipping her head in respect.  
To say she was pleased with herself and her experiment would be an understatement.

~oOo~

She had watched her pet project be scrubbed down until he was washed free of the dust and grime he had been covered in from head to foot.  
He now stood before her in a standard issue Galra soldier uniform, looking much neater than before. His hair remained somewhat unruly, though she had ordered that something be done with it as it had grown in since his arrival.  
Now she stood a few feet away from him, alone. She didn’t have much time to speak to her twisted creation, but now was her chance.  
“Listen to me,” she hissed, watching him. His eyes remained straight ahead, staring over her by a good foot or so. “Listen to me,” she snapped venomously.  
This time his eyes did drop down to her, not meeting her own eyes, but he still kept his gaze steady on her form.  
“You will do what I say, do you understand?” She asked, and waited for a response. She received a short and stiff nod. “Good. You will listen to Zarkon, be his pet and prodigy, his lapdog and his hound, his hunter and his killer. But, when I call, you will answer only to me, is that clear?”  
Another nod.  
“Very well, Champion,” she finished. “Follow me.”

~oOo~

The meeting with Zarkon went well. He seemed to approve of her Champion’s work. She knew he would be interested once he saw just how bloodthirsty and deadly he could be.  
“What is its temperament?” The Galra Emperor inquired, sitting on his throne and observing the pair before him with interest.  
“He is pliable, my lord, I assure you. Though he can be volatile and aggressive at times. He has been kept in solitary confinement because of this and has had little to no interaction with anyone besides himself,” she informed him.  
“And yourself, of course?” The emperor queried. Haggar shifted a bit, feeling the weight of her master’s gaze. She remained silent. “I know you took an interest in him, Druid. The arm gives that away well enough. And do not forget that I am not stupid.”  
“Of course not, my lord. I merely saw his potential for combat as he was fighting,” she said. “You well know that the Druids choose our experimentation subjects from among the gladiators. He was curious, so we took an interest.”  
“Very well,” he answered, seeming to find her response good enough. “What else have you done with him?”  
“His already aggressive nature seemed to be a good starting point. We made him stronger, faster, more powerful. And...he has been gifted with the forbidden abilities,” she finished. Yes, she was proud of her work, but telling Zarkon that she had practiced something that he himself had forbidden thousands of years ago was not something she had looked forward to.  
He stood up. “You dare?! I forbade the gifting of the Battle Rage after the war with the Alteans. They were too difficult to handle, too dangerous, even for me!”  
“But what if you had one on a tight leash? Under your thumb for only you to control?” Haggar tested, to see if he could be convinced.  
“What do you mean?” Apparently, he could. She grinned beneath her hood.  
“He has been reprogrammed to be a compliant soldier. He will carry out your every wish doggedly or die trying. He is already a skilled fighter, in hand to hand combat especially. Train him, and he will be the best warrior you could ever hope for,” she told him, hoping that she was managing to sell it.  
The Emperor seemed to think for a long moment, but then finally sat back down in his seat.  
“Very well. Your “experiment” seems as though he would be wasted as a simple soldier. He will be trained. And, if he survives, he will become my Hand. My Inquisitor,” the Emperor said.  
Haggar nodded and moved to leave.  
“Haggar?” The emperor called, and the Druid turned. “Does it have a name?”  
“I believe he was called “Shiro” by his former companions,” she replied, taking another step to leave  
“Oh, and Haggar,” the Emperor called again, prompting her to only turn her head to the side. “Give his cybernetics an upgrade.”

 

~oOo~

It had been a year since his initial imprisonment, a year in which he had fought and lost himself in order to survive.  
He didn’t know who he was, or if he had a name. He just knew he wasn’t their prisoner anymore. He was their soldier. It didn’t bother him. Something about the training felt familiar, and he didn’t mind that. Waking up every morning and spending the whole day exercising and trying to make himself stronger, before being tested to see if he was ready in the evenings.  
He backflipped, lithely dodging the blaster bolts heading toward him. He landed neatly in a crouch, ducking slightly to avoid another before charging forward. Drawing his right hand back, it glowed amethyst as it charged up, the streak of light the only sign that he had been there.  
Swinging it forward, he slashed through the metal of the training dummy, severing the top half from the bottom.  
Another blast from behind him brought him back to reality and he rolled to the side to narrowly miss getting hit with the second barrage. Taking shelter behind one of the provided walls, he took a half-tick to peer over the edge. Jerking his head back down as more blasterfire peppered his hiding place, he mapped out his attack.  
The droid had a rotary blaster cannon, and was perhaps 90 meters away. He couldn’t charge it head on, or he would get hit.  
However, he could try to work his way around and surprise the A.I.  
Deciding it was the best course of action, he darted around the walls, trying successfully to stay in cover.  
It was slow work, moving around a mock-wary target. But he managed it. He was finally in an ideal position, just inside of the droid’s blind spot. Taking a deep breath, he leapt over the wall and high into the air.  
Landing squarely on the droid before it could even react, he didn’t even bother to ignite his hand before using the claw-like finger tips to tear open the chest cavity and destroy the core. Removing his hand from the sparking interior, he let go of the dead mech and flipped backward, landing easily on his feet as the metal clattered to the floor.  
He couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction at his work. He would never deny that a job well done gave him a certain sense of pleasure. The fact that he maintained a high success record also gave him a healthy sense of personal pride.  
A voice over the speakers in the training room broke him out of his thoughts.  
“Champion, well done. Your evaluation is complete and Emperor Zarkon has summoned your presence,” it said. He looked toward the large tinted window of the viewing box near the high ceiling of the training floor. Crossing an arm over his chest in the salute he was taught, he bowed before turning and exiting the space.  
He moved down the many corridors at a brisk pace, unaccompanied by guards. He had been pleased when his keepers had finally stopped sending him down the halls surrounded by five or six guards. Of course, it had taken him time to get what they called his “temper” under control. It seemed he had an issue with suddenly becoming volatile and violent at the slightest provocation.  
It had been a while since he had last had an outburst, and it appeared that he was being trusted, which he appreciated.  
His feet were only programmed to go to three places. The training room, the cell-like room that he spent his time in when he wasn’t training, and the throne room. Currently, his legs had stopped him outside of the third. He stared at the tall doors which loomed ominously over him. It didn’t help that the entrance was meant to intimidate even the tallest Galra general, and whatever he was, it wasn’t Galra.  
The door before him opened automatically after a moment and he waited for it to part completely before he strode inside. Reaching the standard respectful distance of fifty meters from the throne, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, crossing his metal arm across his chest. Tuning his ears to listen to what was happening, he caught the tail end of his evaluation results.  
“...an efficient and ruthless combatant. Combined with his…’skills’ he makes an excellent hunter, tracker, and killer if it comes down to it. He remains as volatile and unpredictable as before, my lord,” the Galra general stated. “He is a formidable opponent and worthy fighter. He would be wasted in the infantry, or even the cavalry, though he is a highly skilled pilot.”  
He heard the sound of the Emperor Zarkon’s metal gauntlet-clad hand dropping to the arm of his throne. It made him wince slightly, but he stilled instantly. He didn’t want to show fear.  
“Very well, general. Your report is appreciated. Now, leave us,” a deep voice rumbled through the room, reverberating off the walls.  
Keeping his head down respectfully, he listened as the general stood, saluted, and left. He felt the Galra’s shadow fall over him as he passed by. All was silent for a long time until a deep boom sounded, signalling that the doors had shut behind the general. Then, silence again.  
“Rise, Champion,” the Emperor commanded. He did as he was told.  
“Approach,” came the second order.  
Keeping his head low, he followed through, moving closer to the throne now that he had been given permission. As a non-Galra, he didn’t possess the same rights as the others. Reaching a distance of ten meters, much closer to the throne, he again dropped to a knee, but now he looked up.  
Before him sat Emperor Zarkon in all his terrifying glory, and beside him stood the head Druid. A part of him found her amiliar, but he figured she was one of the Druids who had worked on him. He glanced at her fofamiliar, but he chalked that up to her having been one of the multiple Druids who had worked on him.  
He watched for a moment as the Emperor seemed to observe him. He felt himself sweating under the hard purple gaze, but he didn’t let himself waver. Finally, the Emperor stood up, his deep red cloak swirling about him ominously, making his figure even more imperious and intimidating.  
Immediately, the Champion lowered his eyes and head. He heard the steady clank of the Emperor’s armored boots on the metal floor. The shadow of the Galra Overlord covered him and he felt small kneeling on the floor.  
He could hear and sense the larger figure stalking around him. He felt sweat sliding down his back and neck, and his suit and base armor suddenly felt stifling. Blessedly, the Emperor came back into his view, though he kept his eyes down. The Emperor stopped, towering over him from his position in front of him. All he could see were his boots.  
“Champion. It is true that you are an exceptionally skilled fighter. Both in ground combat and in space. You fight with all the strength and prowess of a Galra soldier, with ten times the vigor and tenacity. You are fast, strong, skilled and ruthless. And that, it appears, is even without the aid of your Galra ‘enhancements.’  
“In short, you are an ideal, even perfect, soldier,” he stated. The Champion could only stay, his head still low. He had just restated what the general had said, but now it sounded almost incriminating rather than something he ought to be proud of.  
He waited for something degrading to come out of the Emperor’s mouth, tearing down his achievements and belittling him. But it never came. Instead, it was quite the opposite.  
“In fact, as General Raxhus said, you would be wasted in the standard military. Infantry or otherwise,” the Emperor went on, moving to pace around him again. He could feel the penetrating gaze, always on him. Once the Emperor was out of his line of sight, he felt himself sweating again. Months of training and captivity had his senses on high alert when he was unable to watch his six.  
“I must admit I am quite pleased by your progress. I have watched you from the beginning and you have improved immensely,” he continued, coming around again.  
“You have been groomed and trained and prepared, and now it is time for you to be inducted into your place in the Galra Empire,” he stated. “Since you are such a notable fighter, skilled in all forms, I have decided that you will become my Hand. An Inquisitor, of sorts.”  
The Champion looked up then, surprise evident on his features. It was fortunate that the Emperor had turned and was returning to his throne. He sat back down and looked at down at the Champion’s small figure.  
“Do you accept this position?” The Emperor inquired, his voice booming throughout the throne room. He met the alien overlord’s eyes.  
“Yes. Yes, my lord. I do accept,” he replied.  
He thought he saw the ghost of a smile pass across the Emperor’s face.  
“Very well. No longer shall you be known as “Champion.” Rise, Shirak,” the Emperor commanded, lifting a hand. He looked up and did as he was told.  
Shirak. His name. Something inside him felt elated that he at last had a real name, and not just a title. He listened carefully to what the Emperor said next.  
“You will take on assignments and tasks that no ordinary soldier can. You will hunt down and eliminate any and all opposition to the Empire. You will root out and destroy any cowards or deserters to assure that our reign remains stronger and more vice-like than ever. Repid Sah!” The Emperor finished  
“Repid Sah!” He replied, crossing his arm over his chest once again.  
“Now go, Shirak,” the Overlord commanded, “Await your orders and become accustomed to your position. You will return here within a week.”  
“Yes, Master Zarkon,” he nodded. Proudly, he bowed and turned on his heel and strode out of the throne room.


	2. Chapter 1 -- Initial Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Voltron meets their first mini-boss...

Despite his generally upbeat attitude, Lance always found that he hated Monday's.

Back in the Garrison, Monday meant the start of a new week and more work and new opportunities to either prove his worth or make a fool of himself. However, back then, as always, he possessed an unfailing ability to blow off any upsetting or even cruel words.

After becoming a Paladin of Voltron, on the other hand, Monday brought on a surge of nerves. Fear of what would befall them in the coming week always tugged at him in the quieter moments, when he was alone or falling asleep or waking.

But this Monday was likely to go down as a day of infamy.

At barely after what translated to 5:30 in the morning, the Castle had received warnings. A Galra ship had tracked down the Blue Lion and was lining up an attack.  
“It isn’t a battleship,” Allura, the Altean princess who had slept for ten thousand years, and Lance felt the need to one-sidedly flirt with, had said.

Just ducky, Lance had thought before he had run to the hangar where the Blue Lion was kept, the others heading for their lions. After all the two remaining Alteans had told him about the Galra Empire, he was relieved that they had at least had enough time to find each of the Lions.

Currently, he was multitasking. Alternating between keeping out of the line of fire and counting the many reasons why he hated Monday.

He was broken out of his thoughts as a bright fuchsia blaster bolt whizzed past Blue’s snout. Slamming forward on the controls, Lance sent his Lion into a nosedive. 

Wheeling around, he could see that his teammates had their own hands full holding their own against their attacker.

“I can’t get a lock on him!”

“SLOW DOWN YOU BLASTED-”

“I’m gonna be sick if he keeps this up.”

“Guys! We need to regroup!” Lance shouted over the communicator, trying to get a word in edgewise for once. There was silence. Rarely, if ever, did the brown haired teen raise his voice out of annoyance-bordering-on-anger. Pidge was the first to reply.

“Why? We can’t form Voltron. We don’t have all the Lions,” he said, an explosion echoing through the channel.

“Yeah, guys, I think we’ve established that. But we stand a better chance working as a team. It’s what Allura and Coran have been telling us this whole time! If we work together, we might be able to beat him!” He exclaimed, swinging his lion out of the way as another streak of fire shot past him. He rolled his eyes at the thought that they were so uncoordinated that he was trying to get them to form up.

Shaking off the thought, he continued on with attempting to get his dysfunctional team in order.

“Look, nothing else is working! Pidge, you just said he was too fast. Hunk, you can’t get a lock on him for the same reason. And Keith, I doubt that he’ll just stop dead and let you hit him. We have to work together,” he said.

“Alright, then how do you suggest we take this guy down?” Keith asked, his tone somewhat sarcastic. Lance scowled. A week. That’s how long he’d been dealing with his jerk arch-rival, but currently he’d have to put up with him a while longer if any of them wanted to get out alive. Hunk and probably Pidge he could count on, but Keith was still very much a loner who didn’t work well with the team.

“Form up, tails to the planet. We’ll rush him. Try to either get him away from Arus or circle him and blast him out of the sky,” he stated, moving to follow through with his plan. He wheeled Blue around once she face Arus and saw that Pidge and Hunk had joined him. To his surprise, the lion on his left was Keith’s.

He looked forward to see the dark ship streaked with small purple lights had circled around and was heading straight for them.

“Okay team, this is it. Let’s go!” he shouted, urging his Lion forward to meet their attacker head on. He heard affirmatives over the communicator as the others followed after him. His scowl only deepened as they got closer and closer to meeting. Come on, come on, come on, he thought, gritting his teeth and hoping that this guy wasn’t going to try to pull some kind of kamikaze crap on them. If he did, Keith would officially be leader of the team, and he couldn’t have that.

He charged up Blue’s tail laser and prepared to fire, surprisingly managing to get a lock on him.

“Guys! I have a shot!” he shouted.

“Take it! Take it now!” came the reply, not surprisingly from Keith.

For once, Lance did as his arch-rival told him and fired off the ice-blue laser in the direction of the oncoming ship. He waited for an explosion.

However, just before the laser beam had a chance to reach the ship, its pilot pulled up and the ship shot upwards.

“We’ve got him on the run! Keep firing!” he cried, firing another shot with the tail laser. It was joined by repeated shots from the others. “We might not be able to beat him, but we can at least run him out of this part of the galaxy!”

It looks like we may just have a chance, he thought, starting to feel a little more hopeful. It was true that it seemed like the enemy fighter was having more trouble now that all of them were flying together and firing in a more coordinated manner. He was spinning and flipping, barely dodging the fast-coming blasts. 

Suddenly, a small hail of amethyst bolts fell toward them. Lance gasped and felt the blood drain from his face. Immediately, he dived to the side to avoid getting hit. Pidge and Hunk followed suit, their Lions not agile enough to dodge all the bolts.

Much to Lance’s chagrin, he saw Red neatly swerving and flipping over them, still on the fighter’s tail. Finally, once he was out of the firing range, Keith took another shot at their enemy.

With the herd thinned, the pilot had no issue dodging the fire. Hearing his teammate’s annoyed snarl, Lance could only watch and attempt to catch up as Keith seemed to put on a burst of speed and gun after the small ship.

As they got farther and farther from Arus, Lance had a nagging sensation that the pilot was up to something. He hadn’t fired a shot in offense in some time, just often enough to keep their attention, bordering on suspicious.

Shaking his head, he decided to voice his thoughts.

“Keith, I think we should turn back,” he called, hoping that the other teen’s ears didn’t have bad reception because of all that hair.

“No! I can take him!” came the sharp reply.

“We’re well away from Arus! I think we’ve managed to scare him off!” Lance fired back, reaching the limits of his annoyance.

“Listen, Lance-”

“Keith, STOP,” he stated, his voice raised as high as it would go while retaining a deep pitch. “Don’t you see he’s baiting you? He’s trying to separate us, so get your mullet back to Arus. Right. Now.”

There was silence for a long time after that, but he thankfully saw the Red Lion pause in its pursuit. Then, it turned and began to return.

Lance sighed, but could only watch as the small fighter, seeming to have “gotten away”, jumped to lightspeed and disappeared.

He’ll be back...I know it, he thought before wheeling the Blue Lion back around to face Arus and setting off with Keith just behind him.

 

~oOo~

 

The next time they ran into the mysterious enemy pilot, the Paladins had left Arus to explore the other planets in the star system that hosted the small green world.

It had been almost a month since the initial attack, and though all of them expected to feel a little less tense the longer their enemy stayed away, it actually made them feel more uncomfortable. 

To them it just felt like any second they would receive a warning alerting them to the fighter’s return. Or worse: that he’d brought friends.

Eventually, it had been Lance who broke through the tense atmosphere. Claiming in an upbeat way that his curiosity was beginning to bother him, he asked if anyone wanted to check out the other nearby planets.

Everyone agreed since they wanted an excuse to get out of the Castle for a reason other than training or visiting the Arusians - a small frog-like species native to the planet that worshipped the Lions, and the Lion Goddess, Allura. 

The Altean princess had given her consent, acknowledging that they had been training a great deal and thereby deserved a break. However, she gave the single condition that they keep together and stay in touch with the Castle at all times.

They had agreed to her terms and then quickly suited up, each having gotten the routine down to a science. They were out of the atmosphere and in open space in under ten minutes.

It only took a few minutes for them to locate the closest planet and reach it with their Lions.

But what waited there surprised them.

Pidge was the first to spot it.

“Guys, look over there!” he shouted, taking everyone by surprised.

“What the Quiznak, Pidge?” Lance replied, holding his ear. “What was that about?”

A sigh.

“Don’t you see it? Right in front of you? The big dark splotch floating in front of the planet?” Pidge inquired, his tone annoyed.

Lance took a look out of Blue’s eyes and saw that there was, indeed, a medium-sized “dark splotch” hovering just out of the planet’s gravitational pull.

He felt a shiver run up his spine and back down again.

“You’ve found something?” a voice inquired over the long-distance channel. It was Allura.

“Looks that way,” Keith replied, feeling it was best to keep the princess informed.

“Let’s check it out,” Lance suggested, moving his Lion toward the angular mass.

“For the record, I am against this. That-that looks dangerous, and to be honest, I don’t think we should touch it. That thing radiates creepy,” Hunk put in.

“Relax, Hunk. I’m sure everything’s fine. It doesn’t look too dangerous. Pidge, can you scan it or something?” Lance asked.

“Sure thing. Initiating scan,” he replied.

The three braver Paladins glided closer, moving tentatively toward the shape. Upon further inspection, they were able to deduce what it was.

“Paladins, what’s going on? What is it you’ve found?” Allura inquired, beginning to feel edgy at their silence.

“It...It looks like a...spaceship,” Lance replied, staring at the dark hull in front of him. Shards and chunks of metal were floating around it, which seemed worrisome.

“Not just any spaceship. That’s our little friend’s spaceship,” Keith growled.

“Looks pretty banged up, what with the debris field and all,” Pidge added. “I’m not getting too much from this scan, though guys. It looks like the pilot picked a fight with the wrong person, took a beating, and they’ve been drifting since. All the power’s out, and that includes communications. And gravity.”

“Uh, does all power include life support?” Hunk queried.

“Hold on,” Pidge replied, pausing for a moment. “Unfortunately, it looks like it. Chances are, whoever the pilot was, they’re dead. Unless he found some way to eject himself into space without dying.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Keith put in.

“Do you think it might be possible that there is still someone on board, alive?” Allura asked, sounding hopeful.

“Might be worth a look-see. Besides, if not, we may be able to find something interesting,” Lance agreed

“Much as I hate to agree with you,” Keith sighed, “I agree with you. But we’ll flank the ship. I don’t exactly trust it.”

“You don’t trust the pilot, if he’s even alive. It’s impossible to not trust an inanimate object,” Pidge added. “Wait a second guys, I’m picking up data some more data from the scan.”

“Well, I’ll just go around front then,” Lance said lightly, moving the Blue Lion around to see the flipped over topside of the ship.

He leaned forward in the seat and squinted. Light glinted off the semi-transparent cockpit. Leaning even farther forward, he inspected it even closer.

“Hey, uh, guys?” He called, a sick feeling gathering in his stomach. “The pilot’s still in there.”

It was true. When the light radiating off the planet and the glow from his Lion’s eyes had struck the cockpit viewport, he had spotted the pilot, clothed in dark shades and head concealed with a helmet. He was still strapped into the seat, his arms floating in the nonexistent gravity.

“Is he still alive?” Allura asked quickly.

Lance looked closer, but the pilot wasn’t moving. “No. It doesn’t look like he is. I’m sorry, Allura.”

“Why are you sorry? He was trying to kill us the last time we saw him,” Keith interrupted.

“I understand that Keith, but you’re forgetting that it is the duty of the Paladins of Voltron to protect all forms of life,” Allura chided the hotheaded Red Paladin sternly.

“As much as I hate to agree with him, Keith is right Allura. If we hadn’t banded together like we did, we would have been blasted out of the sky or scattered to the corners of the universe,” Lance stated.

“Thank you, Lance. At least someone is on my side,” Keith replied triumphantly.

“Sorry to interrupt again, guys, but I’ve picked up some new readings from the scan. It’s just some information, but I can’t read a word of it. I know my Altean needs work, but it’s passable. This is something different, though it kind of looks like a sub-dialect,” Pidge put in, halting the tensing conversation.

“What does it look like?” Allura inquired.

“I dunno. Sort of like Altean, but...sharper almost. I never thought a written language could look...menacing,” Pidge replied.

“Hmm. If it’s a sub-dialect, it’s likely logged in your Lion’s database. Try translating it,” Allura suggested.

“On it,” came Pidge’s hurried answer.

“I don’t like this guys,” Hunk piped up. “It feels really creepy.”

“You always think things feel really creepy,” Lance said, trying to manuver his Lion closer to the ship to get a better look. “Though, I have to admit, something does feel off.”

“Yeah, there is something fishy going on here,” Keith posited. Then it hit him. “Lance, check for damage on your side. I don’t see any over here.”

“You got it,” came the reply. Leaning forward again, Lance scoured the top side of the ship for any damage he could see. However there was none. No scorch marks, no gashes or gaping holes that should have accounted for the debris field. “Wait a minute…there’s no damage. It’s - It's completely fine!”

“GUYS!” Pidge shouted. “It’s Galra!”

“All of you, get out of there now!” Allura cried. “Get back to the Castle immediately!”

At that moment, the small purple lights of the ship ignited and the engine could be heard powering up. Lance jumped and jerked the Blue Lion backward.

“How is that possible?! The ship had no power at all!” Pidge cried.

“Does it really matter?! Let’s get out of here stat!” Hunk shouted, wheeling the Yellow Lion around and gunning for Arus. Pidge followed quickly, but Keith remained, already in a stand-off with the enemy vessel.

Lance ducked his Lion around the small fighter ship, which was poised to attack and sidled up to Keith.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he started, “but this isn’t the right time. We’re unprepared and uncoordinated. If you and I try to take him without Pidge and Hunk, we won’t succeed.”

“I can’t just let him go,” Keith snapped.

“We’ll get him next time. When we’re together. Once we find the Black Paladin, we’ll be able to form Voltron and then he won’t stand a chance,” Lance said, trying to keep his cool. If he lost his temper with Keith, then he wouldn’t be able to stop the rage fight that would ensue.

They looked back out at the ship just hovering there menacingly in front of them.

“Lance is right, Keith. Please come back to Castle,” Allura added.

“Fine. I’ll watch our backs,” he said.

Slowly they started off back toward Arus, both keeping a close eye on the ship receding in the distance. Something was still eating at Lance. The sick feeling in his stomach was still there.

“It was obviously a trap. He was trying to get us close, but why? He didn’t attack us or anything. What did he want?”

Before anyone could answer, something happened. A menacing chuckle cut through the channel, making the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stand at attention. It was quickly followed by a deep, somewhat raspy voice.

“I have what I want,” it said before the channel went dead with a short burst of static.

Lance’s eyes shot up to look out at the ship again, only to see it swing around and disappear into space a second later.

“Oh no…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is...the last pre-written chapter.  
> I was a little leery of posting this chapter only a couple days after the first, but I figured why not.  
> Fair warning, I don't have the best track record of staying quick with updates, so be prepared to wait. I really hope this idea sticks.  
> SFC01

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. My first Voltron fic and my first fic on AO3.  
> I was really glad to be able to post here, though I'll probably post it on my FF account too.  
> Hope you guys liked this, feel free to comment if you think I should keep going ;)  
> -SFC01  
> P.S. I have no beta, so please pardon any grammatical errors until I have a chance to proofread.


End file.
